by Doyle, S.
Me: Stop talking about blow jobs. You shouldn’t know about shit like that.
Except I’d been the one to teach her about shit like that. Letting her know that horrible night of the dance what I let other girls do to me.
More dots.
Ash: I’m not a kid anymore, Marc. I know that’s what you want to believe, but it’s not true.
It was what I needed to believe. Because I couldn’t have it any other way. It messed with my head too much.
I didn’t answer her. Instead, I ran through my contact list and found Chris’s number. After a short conversation where I’d made myself crystal clear, Ash’s blow-job problem was fixed.
It was time to come to grips with the fact that I was going back to the Landen estate.
Back to Ashleigh.
* * *
August before senior year
Ashleigh
I looked out the window situated at the end of the guest wing and saw Marc out by the pool messing with the filter. He’d been right about his internship. I’d barely seen him all summer and, any time he wasn’t working, Daddy had him doing any errand he could imagine.
“He’s a man now. He’s got to earn his board. This isn’t a charity home I’m running.”
I’d tried not to roll my eyes when he’d said that over dinner days after Marc had come home from college. However, it was one of the few times I’d seen my father in months, and I wasn’t prepared to get into any fights with him.
Not to mention, Daddy had been different lately. It was hard to identify the change. Part of me thought maybe he was just getting older, and, because of that, he was getting even more protective of me. As if seeing me grow into a woman was jarring to him, and he wanted to do everything he could to keep me younger longer.
Except I might have believed that he didn’t want his little girl to grow up more, if he’d spent time with me while I was actually growing up.
He insisted I wear dresses that made me look thirteen at dinner. He was a hard no on letting any boys come to the house to pick me up for a date. Not that that was a problem.
And all extracurricular activities had to be run by him. For example, I was allowed to be on the school paper, but not allowed to be on the cheer squad. I was allowed to join the community outreach club—we tutored students in disadvantaged areas of towns outside of Harborview for free—but I was not allowed to join the drama club.
My classes, my extras, my SATs were all selected to present me well to Princeton. Which was great, because I’d be there next year with Marc.
But my father wasn’t real big on activities that might actually be fun.
I’d loved cheering on Marc at his soccer games. Add a few leg kicks and pompoms and I could have been a cheerleader. I wasn’t sure how I felt about acting, but the people who worked behind the scenes on the plays always joked about how much fun it was just to goof around with everyone during rehearsal.
But those clubs meant socializing with the locals, something my father had always frowned upon.
Because of my health.
Or so I’d always thought. My asthma had been manageable since my last bad incident, and at some point my father was going to have to accept I was leaving next year to attend Princeton. Once there, I would be able to do, and be, with anyone I wanted.
One year away from college, yet he barely let me bring up the subject. When I did, he got agitated.
So when he’d gone on his rant against Marc, I’d said nothing. The farther down on my father’s radar, the better. For Marc, too, for that matter. It was like my father simply rejected him on principle.
Drug addict mother meant loser son.
Except Marc was anything but a loser. He’d risen to the top of everything he did.
Now he was fixing the filter on the pool by himself. Both my father and George were gone for the day. I glanced down at the expensive black bikini I was wearing. To date, I hadn’t really been able to make an impression on him with my choice of swimwear, but this was the sexiest thing I’d ever bought. Barely there, lots of strings. My butt and boobs were basically on display, and, if my father saw me wearing it, he would have a heart attack.
But he wasn’t here. And Marc finally had a Saturday where he didn’t have to go into the office to work. I skipped through the house, down the stairs, and out back to the pool. I took off the swim cover I was wearing and dropped it on a lounge chair before I made my way over to where Marc was working.
He glanced up when he felt my presence looming.
This time. Maybe for the first time. He saw me.
He saw me for what I was. Thin, but not too thin. High breasts. Soft curly blond hair that fell past my shoulders. Not a girl anymore. I knew it bothered him because after looking at me up and down, his jaw started ticking in a way it did whenever I got under his skin.
“It’s hot today. Want me to bring you a soda or some water?” I offered.
“No.”
“What about some food? You’ve been working out here for hours.”
“Not hungry,” he mumbled. “You don’t need to serve me, either. Remember you’re the princess in the castle. I’m just the lowly peasant.”
I sighed. “I was just trying to be courteous. You’re doing a favor for us by fixing the filter, the least I can do is offer something in return.”
His eyes narrowed. “This isn’t a favor. It’s work. Your father expects labor for my board here, and I expect to pay for my rent. When are you going to start to get that, Ash? This isn’t my home. This is just a place I’ve gotten to stay for a few years because my uncle happens to work here. I’ve had to earn it.”
I crossed my arms over my stomach because he was making me feel the way he did sometimes. Like these past few years had meant nothing. That we hadn’t been anything more than the princess and the peasant. At best, casual acquaintances, when I knew it wasn’t true.
He knew it, too.
“Okay. Sure. You do that, Marc. Convince yourself I’m just some spoiled princess who barely acknowledges your existence. And you’re the poor peasant who lives under a staircase or something equally pathetic.”
He stood then from where he’d been kneeling next to the filter, and I could see how much he’d changed, now he wasn’t wearing the suits he’d worn all summer to his office job.
Dressed only in a pair of swim trunks and no shirt, it was like he’d become this other person I didn’t know. Certainly not the boy I grew up with. Broader shoulders. The hair on his chest was thicker than it had been. He was taller, too. He’d always been bigger than me, but now it was like he dwarfed me.
So much so I might have taken a step back in defense, if not for one very important reason. Marc Campbell didn’t scare me. He might breathe fire like a dragon. He might be formulating in his head the most hurtful thing he could say to me. But I knew the truth.
He would never ever hurt me.
“No, Ash. You’re right. You’ve always acknowledged my existence. Since you were ten years old, you’ve been on my heels like a fucking terrier dog gnawing at my ankle and not letting go. So every once and a while I had to kick you to get you to back off.”
“You’re going to kick me again now,” I said, lifting my chin. “Go ahead and do it. You know I can take anything you dish out.”
He moved quickly, pushing himself into my space. I flinched but I still didn’t take a step back. That’s when he brought both his hands up to cup my face, holding me in his grasp, so I could do nothing but look at his hard, brown eyes.
“Nah, kicking you doesn’t seem to work. So let’s put all our chips on the table. Tell me why I can’t shake you loose. After all the shitty things I’ve done. After I nearly killed you—”
“You didn’t nearly kill me. It was an asthma attack,” I interrupted.
“Why?” he barked.
“You know why,” I said, resigned to my fate.
“I do. But I want to hear you say it.”
That was easy. Because there was no truer
thing I knew. “I love you.”
He flinched like I’d hit him, but it’s what he’d wanted to hear. What he’d wanted me to admit.
“Yeah, I know it. That’s why you’ve been walking around all summer in your skimpy bikini, swishing your ass and showing off your tits. Good job with this one. You actually got me hard.”
I tried to look down, to see the proof of what I’d done, but he kept my head tilted up to meet his eyes. To hear his words.
“You need to get this through that thick, blond head of yours. I am never going to love you back. Do you hear me? You’re hot as fuck now, Ash, but I’ve fucked girls who are a lot hotter so that doesn’t matter to me. What does matter, is you were the first person to get in my face when they took me away from my mother. The first person who wanted to be nice to me. And just for that…for trying to be my friend when all I wanted was to be alone with my pain…for that…I will always hate you a little bit. Do you get that? Do you understand?”
I reached up to cup his cheek and I could see the surprise in his reaction.
“I do,” I said boldly. “But I also know you’re lying. Because as much as you think you want to hate me, you don’t. You need me like air.”
“You’re fucking delusional,” he said, dropping his hands away and turning his back on me.
“No, you’re in denial. For now. But I can wait.”
He looked over his shoulder and snorted. “You do that, Ash. You wait as long as you want. I’m going to go fuck every chick on campus while you do. Then I’ll probably pick one to marry. The bigger investment banks like to see the younger brokers married, adds stability in their lives. Makes them a safer bet, or so I’ve been told. I’ll make sure to invite you to the wedding.”
“Fuck you, Marc,” I snapped. Usually I took his hits, but that one smarted. “When you finally figure out that I’m not the one who’s been crazy this whole time, know I’m going to make you pay for that.”
I walked over to the lounge, grabbed my cover-up, but didn’t bother to put it on. Because I knew without looking Marc was staring at my ass. He thought he had the upper hand today?
He was wrong.
Today was the first day he’d ever admitted out loud he was sexually attracted to me.
All things considered, I was pretty pleased.
8
1 month later
Dinner with Daddy’s client
Ashleigh
It wasn’t the first time I’d had dinner with one of my father’s clients. Since he’d never dated—or at least not that I knew of—after my mother died, he said it was helpful sometimes to have a hostess at these events. Someone to steer the conversation to other topics so it wasn’t all work talk. Or someone to converse with the wife of the client so that the two men could talk only shop.
Except this was like none of those times. First, this man had been invited to our house, which my father had never done before. And there was no wife.
Evan Sanderson was born and bred Harborview. Also probably considered the most eligible and attractive bachelor in town.
While his parents had retired to Florida, he remained in the family home, which wasn’t quite as large as my father’s estate, but only because the Sandersons considered anything big and flashy to be tacky.
Growing up in the family tradition, he’d become a financial broker and had eventually taken over the management of his father’s hedge fund. Although I’d heard talk he was thinking about a future in politics.
I knew he was in his thirties. He was polite, well-mannered, dressed impeccably, and I knew the watch he was wearing cost six figures.
I was also pretty sure Marc would hate him.
One thing was certain: he wasn’t someone my father was courting to invest his money with him. Which is what these client dinners were usually about. Evan did his own investing. Quite well, if the watch was any indication.
So why was he here? And why were both my father and he looking at me as if I were the investment? Surely that had to be in my head.
“You are a senior in high school, correct?” Evan asked me.
“Yes. This year.”
“Do you have plans to go to college?”
“Princeton,” I answered immediately. “It’s where my father went, of course.”
Nothing to do with Marc.
“We’ll see, Ashleigh,” my father said, pointing his fork in my direction. “You know there is no need to rush off to college. A lot of children of privilege take a gap year. Travel. Broaden their minds.”
Broaden their minds? My father was promoting broadening my mind when he’d done everything in his power to contain me here at the estate? Since when did he believe it was it okay to not go to college?
My father and I had been drifting apart, or rather I’d cared less about pleasing him in recent years, but this was like talking to someone I didn’t know. He was also drinking more than he normally did. His face was red, and his hand shook when he reached for the Manhattan George had prepared for him.
I’d never seen him so not in control. Especially in front of a potential…whatever Evan was supposed to be.
My first instinct was to tell Marc. To text him that Dad was behaving weird and there was some smooth dude named Evan sitting at my dinner table checking me out.
I had to admit it wasn’t in an older, creepy way. It wasn’t like his eyes kept going to my boobs or anything. His assessment was more like I was a thing of value, only the exact value was still to be determined.
I couldn’t tell Marc any of that because I wasn’t talking to him. Since our confrontation by the pool last month, I’d decided to play hardball. He wanted to believe I wasn’t important in his life, then I had to show him I was.
One month without a call or a text. One month for him to feel my absence. To understand what pushing me away felt like. One month for him to come to the conclusion I was important to him.
Because I was sure he would.
I hoped he would.
Maybe I hadn’t accounted for how stubborn he could be.
“Ashleigh! Evan asked you a question.”
I blinked, coming back to the conversation at the table. “I’m sorry. I must have zoned out.”
“I was curious when you would be turning eighteen. This is a big birthday for you, correct? You are officially an adult.” He smiled smoothly and I liked him even less.
“In a few months, yes,” I answered vaguely. The less information Evan knew about me, the better. “I hate to excuse myself before dessert, but I do have a very important test tomorrow I must study for.”
“Of course. Grades are very important,” Evan said.
My father didn’t look happy about me leaving, but I didn’t care. Normally, I would clear my own plate and silverware so George wouldn’t have to bother, but I had this need to go to my room and lock the door.
I was being ridiculous. I knew that. Evan had been nothing but polite the entire evening and was simply asking about an upcoming important birthday. There was nothing strange about him. I’d just gotten a gut sense of wrongness.
Maybe I was anxious in general. Because while I’d wanted to prove a point to Marc, I was suffering my own consequences. I felt lost and unmoored with no connection to anyone. The more my father continued to behave erratically, the more I felt that way.
Walking over to my desk, I picked up my phone and saw an indicator I had a text.
The second I opened the app and saw Marc’s name, it was like this incredible wave of relief washed over me. He was still out there. He still cared. He couldn’t let me go any more than I could let him go.
Marc: WHAT.THE.FUCK?
Me: Sorry? I’m not sure I understand.
I checked and he’d sent the text only a few minutes ago. Clapping my hands, I watched the dots appear. It meant he was immediately on the other side of the phone. That feeling of connection thrilled me.
Marc: I got a text from some dude asking my permission to take you to Homecoming next month.
<
br /> Wow. Jeffery was being pretty careful. I knew he liked me, but I didn’t think he’d take it that far. Then again, most people at school knew Marc sort of still loomed large over me. Jeffery was probably trying a pre-emptive approach so as not to earn the wrath of Marc Campbell.
Me: His name is Jeff. He’s a senior. He’s been flirting with me, but I didn’t realize he was planning that far ahead.
Marc: Flirting or harassing?
Me: Flirting. Ever since you shut Chris down, no one has been giving me a hard time.
Marc: So you want to go to this dance with him?
Me: Not really. But since you’re fucking all the hot girls on campus, I figured I should make some effort to lose my virginity.
I smiled as I typed the words, knowing his jaw was doing that flexing thing right now.
Marc: Nice trick. It’s not going to work. I’m not going to tell you not to fuck him.
Me: You sort of just did. What did you tell him?
Marc: The usual. He hurts you. I kill him.
Me: You say the sweetest things…
Marc: Stop messing around, Ash. I don’t give a fuck who you go to the dance with, as long as it’s not an asshole who would hurt you.
Me: Right. Because you’re the only asshole who gets to hurt me. Understood.
Marc: Look, maybe I was harsh last month. I just want you to understand where I’m coming from.
Me: I know where you’re coming from because I’ve been right there beside you the whole time. Admit it, you missed my texts a little bit.
Marc: I admit nothing.
Me: A little bit…
He went silent, but I knew my self-imposed ban of texting Marc was over. I considered telling him about Evan and my father and the totally weird vibe at dinner tonight, but I didn’t know how to express it. Not in text anyway. Instead, I changed out of my dress, one my father insisted I wear that made me look like Alice in Wonderland, and into my pajamas, and went to sleep more content and at peace than I’d been these past four weeks.
